


When We Stop Reacting to Our Parents

by ferociousqueak



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 09:12:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9541079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferociousqueak/pseuds/ferociousqueak
Summary: After the events of Sanctuary, Garrus struggles with not being able to talk to his family.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pearwaldorf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/gifts).



> For pearwaldorf for the Mass Effect January Jubilation gift exchange :D

Sanctuary had been … unsettling. If Garrus had seen it three years ago, he might’ve thought it was something particular to humans, a testament to some moral deficiency inherent to the entire species. But turning against one’s own in hopes of self-preservation, however misguided? He’d seen enough now to know that was just people.

And indoctrination.

But those thoughts seemed far away as he helped a mumbling, stumbling Tali into her bunk. He thought about the myriad ways he could blackmail her by recording her drunken ramblings, but when she started talking about Miranda fighting against her father, about her never bending to please him, he decided to show mercy just this once.

“I think it’s time for bed,” he told her as he eased her onto the mattress.

“Keelah, Garrus,” she’d said, her words a little too long. “Advisor to the Primarch. War hero. Shepard’s boyfriend. Your father must be so proud of you.” She fell back against her pillow, still fully clothed, and closed her eyes. In a quieter voice, she said, “I wonder what that’s like.”

Garrus faltered as he pulled the covers over her. It was a shotgun blast to his gut, but he clamped down on his vocal chords before they could betray him. Not that it mattered. Tali was already snoring and loudly.

He walked quickly back toward the Main Battery, and his hands twitched with the effort to resist checking his messages. His dad and Sol had made it off Palaven, but they hadn’t made it to the refugee camps at the Citadel yet. Comm buoys prioritized official and military communications; restricting the bandwidth for civilian messages was necessary, but also inconvenient for anyone trying to get and stay in contact with family escaping the Reapers. After not knowing for weeks whether his dad and Sol had survived the initial attack, all Garrus wanted was to hear their voices again, to reassure himself that they really had made it.

The door to the Main Battery opened, but Garrus paused in the threshold. A low hum from the console filled the space, but other than that, silence would surround him if he stayed here.

He needed to shoot something.

#

Garrus stepped into the cargo pay cradling his Widow and stopped in his tracks at the sound of thuds and grunts.

“Hey, Scars,” Vega greeted him between blows against the punching bag hanging in his station.

“Jimmy,” Garrus returned. “It’s kind of late for you to be down here, isn’t it?”

Vega smirked and huffed a laugh. He paused long enough to flex his arms at Garrus. “You don’t get to be this finely tuned weapon without working for it,” he said and then went back to his routine.

Garrus flicked his mandibles in mock exasperation. “Please,” he said and held up his rifle. “There’s only one finely tuned weapon here right now.”

Vega barked a laugh but continued to hit the bag in front of him. Garrus set up a line of bottles at the far end of the cargo bay, switched the Widow to training mode—he wouldn’t miss, but no reason to put a hole in the Normandy’s hull—and found a perch near the requisitions console. He pulled up the rifle to his shoulder and let his breath out slowly.

“ _Only take the shot when you’re ready_.”

His father’s voice rang in his thoughts, and Garrus could feel him adjusting his hands, his back, his stance.

“ _Get it right_ ,” he’d said. “ _Sloppy shots come from impatience and a lack of discipline. There’s never a reason to miss_.”

Garrus pulled the trigger as the last of his breath escaped him. The familiar kick of the rifle butt against his shoulder felt good, but all of the targets remained standing. He flicked his mandibles in irritation and fidgeted with the rifle’s scope.

“Fuck, Scars!” Vega said around the punching bag, scowling and rubbing the palm of his hand against his ear.

“Ah, sorry about that.” Garrus silently chided himself for the oversight. “A little distracted, I guess.”

He raised the rifle again and lined up his next shot.

“ _Why did you miss, Garrus?_ ”

“Sloppy,” Garrus muttered. He let out his breath and pulled the trigger.

All the targets still stood. Again.

Vega peeked around the corner of his enclave and turned back to Garrus, his brow knitting in concern. “You okay, man? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you miss before.”

Garrus sighed. “Yeah. Fine. Just thinking too much.”

The look of concern turned into one of discomfort. “Everything okay with you and Shepard?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Nothing like that. Family stuff.”

“Ah,” Vega said and took a few steps toward Garrus. “Any news about them getting to the refugee camp?”

Garrus shook his head. “Haven’t heard from them since they got off Palaven. Communication is just tricky right now.”

Vega nodded. “I get it, man. Come on, I’ll get you a beer.”

The image of Tali’s prone, snoring form came to mind, and it was almost enough to make him laugh. He closed up his rifle and followed Vega back to the elevator.

#

Vega bent down behind the bar and produced two bottles, each one clearly marked as either levo or dextro. Garrus took the one Vega held out to him and twisted off the cap.

“You got any family, Jimmy?” he asked and took a drink.

“Yeah,” he said in a flat tone and took a long swig. It was a long moment before he continued. “Not sure where my mom is, but I have an uncle in the Alliance. Last I heard, he was fighting Reapers on Tiptree.”

Garrus hummed. If there was one thing he was grateful for, it was that his mom didn’t have to see the galaxy like this. “What about your dad?”

Vega shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care.”

If Vega had been turian, Garrus was reasonably certain he would’ve heard a thrum in his voice warning him away from that line of questions. Fair enough. There was a time when that same note would’ve come from Garrus too.

“So your old man,” Vega said, obviously shifting the focus from himself. “He was some kind of big shot at C-Sec, right?”

Garrus nodded. “A word of advice, Jimmy? Don’t work with family.”

Vega grinned. “What? Disappointed you didn’t get special treatment or something?”

“Oh, it was special all right,” Garrus said and took another drink. “The kind of special that puts you under the microscope and gives everyone else a pass.”

Vega laughed. “I’m sure if I’d ended up under my uncle’s command, he would’ve made Captain Tony look like Santa Claus. Family, am I right?”

Garrus grunted in agreement and downed the last of his drink. “It’s late and I should get some sleep. Thanks for the beer.”

“No problem, man.” Garrus stood and turned toward the door, but Vega called him back. “Your family. They’re gonna be okay.”

Garrus smiled but couldn’t muster any warmth to go with it. He was getting too old for platitudes, but he appreciated the sentiment. “That would be nice. Night, Jimmy.”

#

The elevator ride up to Shepard’s cabin was interminable, and all Garrus wanted to do was strip down and sleep for a million years. A stone weighed down his gut, though, and he had a feeling sleep would play hard to get tonight.

He’d spent so many years at odds with his dad. Spirits, Garrus had spent two years on Omega and hadn’t said a word to him the whole time. It took three gangs working together to take out Archangel for him to open up a line of communication with his dad. Then again, when he was running out of options to get someone to let him do something about the Reapers, his dad had listened to him. Had helped him, even. Now, with the world ending, all he wanted to do was talk to his dad.

And that was the one thing he couldn’t do.

The elevator doors finally slid open and Garrus walked quickly into the cabin. Shepard was slumped over her console and snoring softly. One hand clutched loosely at a half-eaten ration bar, and Garrus chuckled softly. Of course, she’d fallen asleep eating. He knelt down to pick her up but stopped when he saw that the console interface was still glowing softly.

_Hi Mom,_

_Hackett told me you were assigned to the Crucible Project, and I just wanted to say_

That was it. The timestamp in the corner of the message said the last change had been made three hours ago. The cursor blinked steadily, expectantly, but somehow Shepard hadn’t been able to say what she wanted. She could rouse troops into following her into hell, but she couldn’t talk to her own parent. They had more in common than Garrus had thought.

He slipped one arm under Shepard’s knees and the other around her back. Thankfully, she didn’t wake as he lifted her and carried her down the stairs to the bed. She hadn’t been sleeping enough lately, but when she did, it took nothing less than a Reaper claxon to wake her. He set her down on top of the covers and pulled the other side of the blanket over her. He rarely slept under the covers anyway.

His wrist buzzed and Garrus looked down to check the priority message.

_We made it to the Citadel. An old friend from C-Sec is letting us stay with him. It’s late, but I wanted to check in. I hope you’re staying safe out there. /Dad_

Garrus let out a long breath, and the weight in is gut lifted. He hesitated over the call command for only a moment.

“Dad?” he said quietly as he stepped into the receiving area outside the cabin.

“Garrus.” His dad’s voice sounded tired but also relieved. “Shouldn’t you be asleep.”

“Yeah,” he said, “but I saw your message and I just … well.”

He heard his father hum, and it sounded like he was about to say something more when a voice in the background stopped him. He chuckled and relayed the message. “Sol says she hopes your pleasure cruise is going to end soon so you can get off your lazy spurs and kill some Reapers.”

Garrus laughed quietly and shook his head. “Tell her the tickets were nonrefundable.”

“She knows you’ve been out there fighting. She’s proud of you too,” he said. “You should’ve heard the way she talked about you to the other refugees. Ow! Solana!”

Garrus flicked his mandibles smugly. “I always knew she had a soft spot for me.”

A brief silence stretched between them until his dad finally broke it. “It’s good to hear your voice, Garrus.”

“You too, Dad. I’ll talk to you soon. Get some rest.”

They disconnected and Garrus returned to the cabin. Shepard had turned in her sleep and was stretched diagonally across the bed, the sheets and blanket already askew. He turned off the display where the cursor still waited for Shepard’s next words, and started to undress. It felt like a pressure gauge had been opened and all the tension in his neck and shoulders had been released. Maybe he’d get some sleep after all.


End file.
